


deeper than we know

by quiettoxic



Series: the heart of [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkward Romance, First Time, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettoxic/pseuds/quiettoxic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hong Kong swears he had no ulterior motives when he asked Norway to help him hone his newly-discovered magic powers.</p><p>(That is a lie.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	deeper than we know

**Author's Note:**

> //waves  
> I live!
> 
> I swore to myself to stop writing about Norway for a while and _I did_! I totally did. I wrote loads of stories not about Norway. They're just all unfinished, and this is done. Does anyone believe me when I say Norway is not actually my favorite character?
> 
> This is... Half crack but not really. I don't really know, this _is_ a pretty serious ship of mine, but I don't really know how to do crackships. Like, when I ship something I ship it seriously. Anyway, I had fun, and that's what matters.
> 
> Apparently this ship is called 'Magic Panda'. How adorable is that?
> 
> Title! The title is from a line of the Poets of the Fall song Skin.
> 
> _And I know we go deeper than skin but what lies within_  
>  _It's still deeper than we know_

Hong Kong turns to Norway when he finds out he has a latent talent for magic.

(It is discovered when he accidentally sets South Korea’s hair on fire without touching him, but that aside.)

It’s not that he dislikes England, it’s just that, well… He’s seen the man practice magic countless times, but can count the times it’s gone right on two hands. And although he must admit he has never seen Norway do any magic, not even a card trick, and only knows that he _can_ because of Iceland mentioning it a couple of times, he thinks he must be better than _that_. And he doesn’t know anyone else who could help him.

Luckily, Norway gladly helps him get his powers under control when Hong Kong explains the situation to him.

It quickly turns out they’re not attuned to the same things; Hong Kong likes to play with fire, literally, while Norway prefers water or ice, but they manage to figure things out anyway. And then there are spells. So many spells. Hong Kong learns Norse spells and English spells and scrounges up some old books from his own home that Norway can actually learn things from. He’s rubbish at communicating with magical animals but great at pacifying ghosts and wandering spirits.

(This is quite useful since there has been a ghost living in his attic for years, and now he can finally tell it where to go.)

Sometimes, they spar a little. Hong Kong teaches Norway cool moves that he never would have thought of on his own.

They become friends.

At first, Hong Kong is hesitant to refer to Norway as such, even in his head, because the man is _so hard_ to read that he honestly has no idea what Norway thinks about him, if he even likes him at all. However, it becomes easier over time, and Norway actually opens up more as well. Smiles more, touches Hong Kong more. It’s when they start hanging out together without the context of Hong Kong needing magic lessons that he finally feels confident that they _are_ friends.

Okay, if he’s completely honest – there was another reason that Hong Kong turned to Norway and not England. He might have had a really minor crush on the guy, but honestly, can you blame him? Hong Kong is convinced everyone who has ever set eyes on Norway has some sort of crush on him. Even with his terrible fashion choices, he is easily one of the most attractive people Hong Kong has ever seen.

But, the thing is, it was a minor crush then. It’s a major crush now, now that he’s learned that Norway’s not only hot as fucking hell, but also really nice and funny in a deadpan way and _helpful_ and he has really beautiful eyes and his voice is so smooth and did you know his ears are a bit pointed it’s really cute and _also_ —

“What the fuck, Hong Kong,” Iceland says. “I know he’s good-looking, but please stop waxing poetic about my brother’s ears, okay?”

So maybe Iceland wasn’t the smartest choice to talk to about this, but Seychelles wouldn’t listen and Taiwan is too nosy sometimes. Hong Kong needs more friends. Ones that he hasn’t got crushes on, or are China.

“Stop earwaxing poetic?” he asks innocently, and Iceland pushes his entire hand into Hong Kong’s face.

It’s a major crush, but Hong Kong is good at keeping his composure and so they continue on with their friendship unhindered, even if he does decline to study mind reading together with Norway. Norway says he’ll ask Romania instead, and Hong Kong tells himself not to get jealous because that is ridiculous, he’s not thirteen years old.

(He didn’t know that Romania could do anything beyond cool card tricks.)

It only occurs to him later, while he’s reading Harry Potter, that if Norway learns to read minds then he’s in trouble anyway, unless he learns to shield his mind, like Harry Potter.

Well, maybe not like Harry Potter, because he’s really bad at it, but his point stands.

Hong Kong decides to abandon his book and tries to teach himself to think about dumplings whenever his thoughts start to drift to Norway, which of course results in him thinking about Norway a great deal, so he gives up on that too and has a cold shower instead. If Norway reads his mind, then so be it. He doesn’t seem like the sort of person who reads people’s minds without permission anyway.

There’s another one of America’s pointless, but pretty fun, parties, and though Hong Kong doesn’t really understand what it’s for this time – it might have been America’s birthday, he thinks? – he enjoys it immensely, not in the least because America decided to have a beach party and he gets to watch Norway look vaguely regal in the shade under a parasol without his shirt on, until Denmark drags the man to the sea and dunks him under water, and when he resurfaces he flips his head up like he’s in a commercial and the sun is glinting off his wet chest and _wow_ it’s really hot in America this time of year, isn’t it?

(Hong Kong tells himself again he’s not jealous, not even when Denmark puts his hands all over Norway’s body or Norway gets him in a headlock. Not jealous in the slightest.)

“You look like you did when you drank that pickle juice,” Iceland comments from Hong Kong’s right.

From his other side, Seychelles adds, “I think it’s more like that time when he had to tell Korea he was as cute as a baby panda.”

Hong Kong needs friends that don’t make him do stupid things. Or maybe he just needs to stop losing bets. Maybe both.

Later, when both of Hong Kong’s annoying friends have gone elsewhere, Norway flops down next to him. He actually flops, not a hint of the grace he usually holds himself with. His hair is curly and frizzy. Hong Kong thinks about dumplings.

“Not swimming?” Norway asks. He’s propped up on his elbows.

Hong Kong shrugs. He’s not much of a swimmer.

“It’s surprisingly fun,” Norway says. “Even though there aren’t any merfolk around here.”

Looking down at him, Hong Kong sees that there is a smile playing around Norway’s lips. He smiles back, just a little, and it grows almost imperceptibly. His heart insists on doing a little leap in his chest.

“I was thinking about buildin’ a sandcastle,” Norway says. “I could use some help.”

So Hong Kong finds himself building a sprawling construction of sand with Norway, and if the both of them use magic to make sure it looks right and stays that way, well, no one has to know that.

He’s coaxed into the sea by the end of the afternoon, if just to wash the sand from his body and his hair. Norway teaches him a useful spell to help him see underwater, and they look at fish for a while. Hong Kong swallows a mouthful of salt water when Norway touches his chest without warning, wanting to point out an interesting fish, and he chokes.

When he’s done coughing and gagging, Norway is holding him up in the water, eyes concerned.

“I’m fine,” Hong Kong croaks. God, but Norway’s face is close. He has freckles! Little freckles all across the bridge of his nose! That is so—

Dumplings. _Dumplings._

“Ya sure? Ya swallowed a lot.”

(DO NOT TURN THAT INTO AN INNUEN— Too late now.)

“Yeah, no problem. Totally okay.”

“If ya say so,” Norway says, then reaches up and pushes some of Hong Kong’s wet, warm hair away from his cheek, other hand still on his back, and Hong Kong nearly chokes again.

When they get back to the beach, there is a war going on between Prussia and Denmark about who gets to be the king of the sandcastle. Norway glances at Hong Kong and rolls his eyes.

It becomes a thing, Norway catching his eye across rooms and conveying his thoughts about what’s happening with a look. Not that they are often in the same room – they almost never see each other during official events, because it’s a rare thing that they are both expected to attend the same meeting. But Hong Kong takes what he can get.

It’s Halloween before he knows it, and the Nordics have, for some reason, decided to dress up as each other. Hong Kong is rather startled by how much Iceland looks like Norway when he is the one with the hairpin, but then he sees that Norway is wearing glasses, and he very nearly walks into a wall. Now _there’s_ a kink he didn’t know he had. Wow. Norway catches his eye and smiles a little in response to the stupid look he undoubtedly encounters.

“Hong Kong!” China yells loudly, and Hong Kong rolls his eyes at Norway and goes to find the man.

Later, Norway finds him in the hallway, where he was trying to talk his boss on the phone. Hong Kong doesn’t even notice him leaning against the wall until he hangs up.

“Important business?” Norway asks, looking over the rim of his – or Sweden’s, Hong Kong supposes – glasses.

Hong Kong shrugs a little. “Bit of a misunderstanding.” He wonders if he should tell Norway that he looks nice. Because he does.

“You look good,” Norway says, at the exact same moment that Hong Kong tells him, “You look nice.”

They both chuckle. Norway glances at the ground and pushes his glasses up.

“Glasses,” Hong Kong says, quite dumbly. “You look nice with glasses.”

“Thanks.” There is a pause. “I was lookin’ for ya. Wonderin’ if you’re up for a little magic.”

“Magic?”

A corner of Norway’s mouth ticks up. “A prank. It’s a good time for prankin’.”

A prank? Hong Kong does love a good practical joke – he’s just surprised that Norway does.

“Sure,” he answers. “Who’s the victim?”

Norway shows a hint of teeth and answers, “Everyone.”

It’s really quite a lot of magic, as it turns out, because ‘everyone’ is a _lot_ of people, and they have to enlist Romania’s help last-minute, but then every single nation in the building is suddenly involved in a musical number worthy of Broadway, featuring China and Denmark as dramatic leads.

Romania has sunk down the wall because he’s laughing so hard when Hong Kong looks at Norway and finds the man staring back at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen him with. Norway quickly glances away, covering his mouth. Is he embarrassed?

“I think we did alright,” Hong Kong says, stepping back to let a furiously tap-dancing America through. Norway looks back up. He’s slid the glasses up into his hair at some point, keeping it back, but some strands are springing into his face. Hong Kong wants to reach up and push them back.

“We did great,” Norway confirms. He removes his hand and smiles openly.

( _DUMPLINGS._ )

Hong Kong grins back, steps forward to let America back through. Norway puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently, then slides it down his upper arm almost absentmindedly. Hong Kong swallows, a little startled by the relative intimacy of the touch, especially coupled with the soft smile Norway is giving him now. Another strand of hair comes loose as Hong Kong watches, flopping into his eye. Hong Kong chuckles and reaches up to push it behind Norway’s ear without thinking, but then he realises what he is doing, and his hand stills. Norway’s mouth opens a little, as if he wants to say something.

“HONG KONG!” China yells, _very_ loudly, and the two of them jump apart as if stung. Hong Kong catches Romania looking at them with a curious expression before he’s whisked off by his family.

Later, when it’s time to go home, Romania falls into step next to Hong Kong as they walk out of the building, Hong Kong having managed to get away from China by convincing him Korea was trying to eat his food.

“Hey,” Romania says, grinning. “You’re a good guy.”

“Thanks?” Hong Kong replies.

“No, I mean, I like you. Don’t really know you, of course, but I think we could be friends if I did.”

Hong Kong thinks Romania might be right, and tells him as much.

“Norway likes you too,” he says then.

“I hope so.”

Romania smiles. “He does. I have never seen him smile as much as today.” He looks kind of wistful, a crooked smile on his face.

“Are you... Are you, like, in love with him?” Hong Kong asks, which he knows is entirely inappropriate and unnecessary, but he _has_ to know.

He visibly startles. “No! I might have been at some point, I don’t know. It’s not important. We’re friends.” He shakes his head. “What I wanted to say was, you make him smile, and that’s— That’s admirable. And you should – keep doing that. You know, I have no idea where I was going with this. Just forget I said anything. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah, I, thanks?”

He grins again, showing teeth. “I’ll leave the shovel talk to Denmark. Bye, Hong Kong!” He flounces off, leaving Hong Kong slightly bewildered, but happy.

After that, he doesn’t see much of anyone but China until New Year’s Eve, which he is invited by Iceland to spend with him and the other Nordics – plus their guests. And, hey, Hong Kong will have another New Year’s party later, when it’s Chinese New Year, so who is he to refuse?

He brings a bottle of wine for Sweden, the host, and an old spell book he found to show to Norway.

“Hey, man?” Iceland says, at about ten in the evening, and Hong Kong turns to face him.

(He had absolutely not been staring at Norway, no sir.)

“Yeah?”

“So, I don’t know if you’re still... In love with Norway, or whatever, I just, I think you’d be good for each other, like. I don’t know, if you—”

“Please stop talking.”

“Want t— Thank god. Please don’t make me do that ever again.”

That’s two people’s blessing, Hong Kong thinks. He’s really obvious, isn’t he?

An hour later, _Denmark_ corners him in the hallway, grinning like a lunatic. He’s tipsy, and Hong Kong has to concentrate to understand his English.

“Hey,” he’s saying, “hey, listen, Hong Kong. You’re a good kid. I like ya. An’— An’ I know you like ‘im an’ that’s great, an’ ya should totally kiss an’ all that stuff, yeah?”

Hong Kong nods, uncertain if he wants to know where this is going. Is this the shovel talk Romania was referring to? Doesn’t that usually come _after_ the subject of the talk has started dating someone?

“But, listen, he’s my brother, okay? An’ if ya hurt ‘im, I’ll— I’ll be very sad, an’ _then_ I’ll be angry, an’ _then_ I’m prob’ly gonna do somethin’ stupid like beat ya up, an’ ya don’t want that, believe me.”

“No, I believe you.”

Denmark smiles. “Good. You’re okay, man. I’d choose ya ov’r Turkey any day. I dunno what’s up with that anyway. ‘S just weird.”

What does Turkey have to do with anything?

“Hey, so go kiss Iceland.” Denmark gives him a shove. “Know ya wanna.”

Oh. _Oh_. Hong Kong wonders if he should correct the nation, but decides that it really isn’t worth the trouble. He is… Not really sure what exactly there is, or has been, between Denmark and Norway. Isn’t sure he wants to know. Maybe Denmark would change his mind if he knew it’s _Norway_ Hong Kong likes, not Iceland.

(Well, he does like Iceland, but not... Not like that.)

“Sure thing,” he says instead, and Denmark grins.

“Go get ‘im.”

Hong Kong goes outside, because his cheeks are burning and he wants to avoid Denmark for a while. To his surprise, Norway is there, sitting on a snow-covered wooden bench underneath Sweden’s window. His hair is pale yellow in the light from inside, the angles of his face at once sharp and soft.

“Hey,” the man says softly. He brushes some snow away in a clear invitation for Hong Kong to sit down next to him.

He does, and they sit in comfortable silence for a while. Sweden lives on the outskirts of a village, and from here, they can see nothing but snow-covered fields, glowing a captivating white in the starlight. It’s a beautiful, clear night, and it’s very quiet.

“It’s never this quiet in my home,” Hong Kong says eventually, his voice low, his breath clouding in the cold air.

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Norway replies. “Do ya like it?”

“What, like, the quiet?” He glances at Norway, who nods. “For a while. Too long, and it just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Hm,” Norway says. “I like it. Reminds me of the past.”

Hong Kong looks at him properly. He’s staring up, remembering.

“Which is not always a good thing, I guess. The past.” He turns his head down, looks at Hong Kong. “Aren’t ya cold?”

“I know heating charms,” he answers absentmindedly. Then, “Denmark just gave me a shovel talk.”

Rolling his eyes, Norway says, “Typical.”

“About Iceland.”

He frowns. “I didn’t know ya were...”

“We’re not. I’m not. He got it wrong.”

Norway just breathes, eyes trained on Hong Kong’s face, lips slightly parted. Hong Kong swallows and decides to take the leap.

“It’s you.”

Norway’s lips part a little more. Hong Kong doesn’t think his legs would carry him if he stood up now, and his stomach feels like someone put twenty knots in it.

“It’s me,” Norway repeats, very softly.

Hong Kong nods, leans the tiniest bit up to the man because he can’t help himself.

“That’s good,” he breathes, eyes flicking between Hong Kong’s eyes and his mouth. “I...”

He tilts his face towards Hong Kong, who can barely move, but stops just before their lips can touch. His breath is warm on Hong Kong’s skin when he says,

“I guess that means I can expect a shovel talk from China.”

Hong Kong grimaces, and then they’re kissing at last, cold lips pressed together and Norway’s icy nose pushes against Hong Kong’s cheek when he tilts his head, and it’s absolutely amazing. Norway’s lips are dry and chapped, but very soft. He rests a hand on Hong Kong’s leg to steady himself as he leans more forward, and Hong Kong slides his fingers into the man’s hair at the base of his neck. Norway gasps softly, probably because his hands are cold despite the magic, and it makes his lips part, catching his bottom lip between Hong Kong’s.

It’s so hard to believe that this is really happening that it only really filters through to Hong Kong when it’s over. He regrets that immediately, and so he leans back in, tugging Norway back down.

Norway makes a muffled sound, something that could pass for a moan, and presses them tighter together. His fingers clench in Hong Kong’s – much too thin – jeans. Hong Kong shifts, holds on to the man’s collar. He hears himself make the same sort of noise Norway just made, a breathless sort of half-moan, feels Norway’s other hand slide around his neck. They impossibly press closer together. Hong Kong furrows his brow. His fingers weave and curl into Norway’s hair, which is just as soft as it looks. Norway’s tongue slides over Hong Kong’s lips—

“I said _Iceland_!” Denmark shouts from the doorway, and they part abruptly, panting. Norway looks up to glare at Denmark, and fuck if that isn’t one of the hottest things Hong Kong has ever seen.

“Fine, jeez, Nor, no need t’get angry. But jus’ so ya guys know, ‘s almost midnight. People’re gonna be missin’ the two of ya.”

“Hmh,” Norway says, and Hong Kong hears the door close. He doesn’t even really feel embarrassed. He just feels like he’s in some sort of Norway-induced haze, one that he would like to be prolonged. Possibly indefinitely.

“Uh,” Norway starts, pushing one hand through his hair, which leaves Hong Kong’s neck exposed to the cold air, “I just... I like you too, I guess?”

Hong Kong thinks he might be blushing, but he can’t really see in the low light. It’s still adorable. He tugs slightly at the man’s collar and presses a lingering, closemouthed kiss to his lips.

“Good,” he says, and Norway smiles.

It’s very obvious, when they’re inside, that they have been kissing, or at least Norway looks dishevelled, and his lips are red in a way that makes Hong Kong wants to kiss him again.

Romania winks saucily at Hong Kong, and Iceland blushes slightly when he sees them.

Still, no embarrassment. Just a sort of pride. Yes, Hong Kong thinks, I did that to Norway. _Ha_.

And so he rings in the new year with smacking kisses from Romania on both his cheeks and Denmark ruffling his hair and Estonia handing him a sparkler while Iceland takes a picture of him, but all the while Norway is pressed against his side, a steady presence that Hong Kong thinks he could get used to.

(He really, _really_ hopes he will get the chance.)

Despite the rather frantic first kiss, they take it slow, by necessity as well as by choice – they still can’t see each other a lot, what with them living on opposite sides of the world, just about. Hong Kong makes sure he’s the one who tells China, as opposed to the news reaching him through the nations’ incredibly functional rumour mill. Been there, done that, never again.

He takes it rather well, all things considered. Mostly, he’s just insulted that Hong Kong chose to go to Norway with his magic thing rather than to China himself, to which Hong Kong replies in confusion that he did not know China could even _do_ magic. That results in an afternoon of China calling on spirits and Hong Kong setting things on fire at random, which is pretty amusing.

Norway calls later and asks why his boss thinks China wants to start a war with him.

( _Rather_ well. _All things considered_. It’s relative. Hong Kong doesn’t let it deter him.)

Seychelles catapults herself at Hong Kong when they meet in February, wanting to know what Norway is like in bed. He regretfully tells her he doesn’t know yet, and then they pretend he does know, just to unnerve Iceland when he walks over.

He takes one look at them and turns on his heels, walking over to Romania instead. Hong Kong watches that with interest.

Luckily, Hong Kong manages to convince England that it’s none of his business who he dates and _yes_ he knows that Norway is much older than him and _no_ he’s not being taken advantage of and _hell no_ he doesn’t think he should hook up with Iceland instead, seriously, what kind of suggestion is that?

And Norway opens up even more; grins when Hong Kong tells him really bad jokes on Skype, tells him what he likes and doesn’t like, what he remembers and wishes he didn’t.

In Hong Kong, they walk along the coast and try charming restaurants as Hong Kong tries to teach Norway his language. In Norway, they hear the rumble of long-forgotten creatures in windy forests, and Norway shares stories his people used to tell. He looks different, somehow, when he does that. Some ancient power seems to come to life behind those dark blue eyes, and Hong Kong finds it oddly intimidating and arousing at the same time. It reminds him of how old Norway really is.

There’s more magic. They try to combine their specialties, mixing Hong Kong’s movements with Norway’s spells, but it only results in Hong Kong being slammed against a wall somehow, then Norway kissing him roughly while he holds on for dear life.

Norway swears into the skin of his neck, and Hong Kong shudders. They’re out in the woods, and although it’s been getting warmer, he isn’t used to Scandinavian weather. But it’s quite easy to forget that with Norway pressed against him, warmth and movement like fire through his veins.

“W-what—” he stutters, because while not unwelcome, this is kind of unexpected.

Lips still pressed against Hong Kong’s neck, Norway replies, “Ya looked so... I’m sorry.” He stands up straight, looking down at Hong Kong. “Shouldn’t’ve done that without askin’.”

(He looked so _what_?)

“It’s fine. Like, totally fine.”

“Okay,” Norway says softly, thumb now stroking over the spot his lips just were. “Still.”

Hong Kong tugs at the man’s neck, standing on his tiptoes, and presses their lips together again.

Sliding his fingers into Hong Kong’s hair, Norway angles his head to where he wants it. Hong Kong finds himself pressing against the wall as he tries to make himself taller, back slipping against the wooden slats. He gasps into Norway’s mouth when the man’s thigh presses between his legs, and as his lips part, Norway’s tongue pushes between them, sending excited shivers through his body. It’s not _rough_ anymore, but there’s still a sense of urgency. Hong Kong quite likes it. They’re not aggressive people, the both of them, but this fits for some reason.

Norway pulls back the tiniest little bit, so that their lips are just barely touching, and whispers,

“D’ya wanna learn something?”

“Hm?” Hong Kong pushes a hand against the wall to steady himself, because the tone of Norway’s voice has his knees buckling.

A tiny nip at his lower lip, a hushed word, then an abrupt charge of intense arousal rocketing through Hong Kong’s chest, making him slam his hand against the wall and arch his back. He can practically feel his cock swelling in his trousers.

“Oh god, what was that?”

There is a tiny, but incredibly dangerous smirk on Norway’s face when he looks up. His leg presses up between Hong Kong’s more insistently, and he whispers the same word again. Hong Kong throws his head back with a breathless moan, fingers clenching.

“C’mon,” Norway says. He drags his fingers over Hong Kong’s neck. “Repeat it.” And the spell _again_.

Hong Kong throws his hands up, wrings them into Norway’s shirt and hisses the same spell as he pulls him down to crash their lips together. The man’s whole body twitches, so he must have done it right.

“Very – good,” Norway breathes between kisses. He rolls his hips down sharply, pressing his own obvious hardness against Hong Kong’s even as Hong Kong himself is trapped against the wall of the house. If they keep this up for just a little while longer, Hong Kong thinks he might very well come in his pants. That would be a little embarrassing, he thinks, so he pushes Norway away gently but insistently.

The man peers down at him, looking more rumpled than Hong Kong has ever seen him. He doesn’t remember ever touching Norway’s hair, but it’s sticking out at odd angles, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. There’s a healthy flush on his face, and his lips are kiss-swollen. Hong Kong completely forgets what he was about to say and runs his fingers over Norway’s sharp jaw. Norway turns his head to kiss the tips of his fingers.

“Wanna go inside?” he asks softly, and Hong Kong nods.

Inside the small house, they don’t make it any further than the living room loveseat, on which Norway practically falls down, pulling Hong Kong with him so that he’s straddling the man’s legs.

This is nice. This gives Hong Kong the opportunity to roll his hips down languidly and look down at Norway’s face when his eyes fall shut and he moans, low and breathy.

(He’s still not over how insanely attractive the guy is, like, seriously. And the _freckles_!)

He has half a mind to try that spell again, but decides against it, if only because he wants this to last as long as they can possibly drag it out. He does file it away for later usage, though. Possibly on unsuspecting victims.

Norway’s long fingers drag themselves down Hong Kong’s chest over his thin shirt, then dive underneath the hem and make their way back up. Norway is looking up at Hong Kong again, blue eyes much darker than normal. Hong Kong leans over to kiss him again – and apparently he has an oral fixation he knew nothing about – while he fumbles with the third button of his shirt.

“Mh,” Norway mumbles, pulling his head back. “Got somethin’ else.” He removes his hands from underneath Hong Kong’s shirt, looks contemplative for a second, and then cups his right around Hong Kong’s crotch instead. The left side of his mouth quirks up at Hong Kong’s answering gasp, but he doesn’t move his fingers. He just mutters something again, and then the buttons of Hong Kong’s trousers come neatly undone.

“Now you try.”

Hong Kong swallows, puts his hand on Norway’s chest, and repeats the word. Nothing happens.

Norway repeats the spell more clearly.

It works when he tries it this time. The buttons on Norway’s shirt start undoing themselves, and the man’s hands delve back underneath Hong Kong’s shirt, tugging it up and off.

Their lips meet again while Norway struggles out of his shirt, but he’s only got one sleeve off before Hong Kong decides to use the same spell on his jeans, pressing his hand harder against Norway than is strictly necessary, murmuring against his lips.

(Now this is a fun spell to use on unsuspecting victims.)

“You’re a very good student,” Norway breathes, a hint of both laughter and pride in his voice. With his shirt still half on, he circles his arms around Hong Kong, hands roaming over his back while he latches his lips to his neck. Hong Kong tugs the shirt off and throws it on the floor behind him. He entwines his fingers into Norway’s hair, weaving gently, arching his neck to expose more skin to the man’s hot lips and tongue.

One of Norway’s hands slides down until it hits the waist of Hong Kong’s trousers, then burrows underneath it while Norway mouths along his collarbone. His fingers are cold.

The other hand follows quickly, and they cup his arse, pulling him even closer, their upper bodies sliding together. Hong Kong moves his hips with the motion of Norway’s hands, forming languid circles against the man’s abdomen. He doesn’t feel like he’s about to come any second now, which is good, because Norway is looking up at him from underneath his lashes, chin against his chest, as he slides his hands down, dragging Hong Kong’s trousers and underwear with. He himself is sliding down as well.

Norway raises an eyebrow in question, his fingers squeezing gently, and Hong Kong nods.

A tiny smile appears on Norway’s face, growing wider when Hong Kong stands up on shaky legs and toes his sneakers off.

He makes to reach for his own jeans, but Norway is quicker, hooking his fingers in the waist.

“Ya sure?” he asks.

Hong Kong nods. “You?”

“Yes,” Norway says, and then he pulls.

A gasp that is half startled and half aroused falls from Hong Kong’s lips as he is exposed quite abruptly. Norway pushes his clothes down to just below his knees, then drags his hands up Hong Kong’s legs, and further up still, fingers trailing his hipbones and tugging at his waist. After kicking his trousers away, Hong Kong kneels over his legs again, and Norway presses up, kisses him once more, drags his lips over his jaw, and then his hand is around Hong Kong’s cock without warning.

Hong Kong moans, his hips moving seemingly of their own accord, thrusting into the tight circle Norway makes with his fingers. It feels amazing. But even so, there’s something missing from this picture. Or rather, there’s a thing too much. He tugs at Norway’s trousers, and the man looks up. Licks his slick lips.

“Take them off,” he breathes, and Hong Kong scrambles off him, squats down, and drags at Norway’s jeans until they’re off, and he is quite sure that the man was still wearing shoes just now, but they seem to have vanished. He puts his hands on Norway’s thighs, biting his lip as he takes the opportunity to take a good look at his cock. It’s longer than his own, but then again, with how tall Norway is compared to him, that isn’t surprising. It curves to the left, which amuses Hong Kong for some reason.

Norway squirms a little. Hong Kong lifts his gaze up to him. He feels a smirk crawl its way onto his face, and he leans forward a little, moving his hands to Norway’s hips, to press his lips against the inside of his thigh.

(Does he shave his legs?)

“ _Ah_.” Norway’s hand on his shoulder. His legs spread a little more, which allows Hong Kong access to more skin. He gladly uses it, trailing kisses along Norway’s thigh. On impulse, he nips gently at the smooth skin, and is only mildly surprised when he is rewarded with a pleased groan. Norway’s hand drags along his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Hong Kong slides _his_ hand over Norway’s side in response.

He reaches Norway’s hip; drags his teeth along the jut of a hipbone. There are freckles there too. The man’s cock is so close now. Hong Kong looks up at Norway again to find him looking down with a kind of intensity he’s never seen before. It shoots straight to his own cock, and he muffles a moan against Norway’s skin.

His chin nudges against Norway’s cock, and there is a breathy curse from above him. He would like to hear more of that, so he drags his hand down and slowly wraps it around Norway’s erection.

“Fuck,” Norway breathes, hips bucking a little bit. “Hong Kong. Come.” He tugs at his shoulder, and jerks his chin when Hong Kong looks up at him, in an indication for him to come back up again.

Using the man’s thigh as leverage, Hong Kong hoists himself up on wobbly arms and lets himself be pulled back into his earlier position over Norway’s hips. His cock slips along Norway’s stomach, but then it slides together with _his_ cock, and they both gasp, even as they kiss messily, Hong Kong’s lip catching on Norway’s teeth.

Norway’s long fingers curl around both their cocks. Hong Kong runs his hands over Norway’s upper body as he thrusts into the heat. Curiously, he flicks his thumb over a nipple, and smiles when that gets Norway arching his back on a groan. The next moment, there are lips on his neck again, teeth against the sensitive skin underneath his ear. Heat rolls through his body. And then they’re kissing again, if it can be called that at all – it’s just lips pressed together, tongues meeting in a hot tangle, Norway’s free hand in Hong Kong’s hair, twisting and pulling. They are both panting, but they’re speeding up. Norway is moving his hand around their erections.

God, Hong Kong is close. He presses his head into Norway’s neck, inhales the familiar scent of pine and metal, and then he grins, a little manically, and whispers one word.

Norway curses loudly as he comes, back arching and hips bucking wildly. His hand clenches around Hong Kong, and the other pulls at his hair quite roughly, forcing him to look up.

His eyes are wild, and Hong Kong didn’t think it was possible, but he seems even more handsome like this, panting and flushed underneath him. He puts both his hands on the back of the couch behind the man and thrusts into his still-clenching hand, not taking his eyes off him.

It’s barely three strokes before it becomes too much, and he’s coming as well, spilling over Norway’s stomach with a drawn-out groan.

“Oh, god,” he pants, letting his forehead drop against Norway’s and his body sag as he rides out his orgasm.

“You’re a too good student,” Norway breathes back. “I could use that spell on you right now, y’know?”

“Hm,” Hong Kong answers eloquently. He’s not really up for full sentences yet.

“Would ya like that?” Norway whispers against his lips. He curls an arm underneath Hong Kong’s arm and over his shoulder, pulling them flush together. Their spent cocks slip against each other.

He doesn’t use the spell though. They just kiss lazily, basking in the afterglow.

(Hong Kong does want to try it. The spell. At some point. Wow, his head is fuzzy.)

 “That was... Good,” he eventually murmurs, between kisses.

An agreeing hum in response.

After a while, Hong Kong starts to feel uncomfortable in his kneeling position and slides off Norway to sit next to him on the loveseat. He pats his hair down and mumbles a quick cleaning spell, but he doesn’t feel like putting his clothes back on.

(That is a rare occurrence. He is not often comfortable enough to think like that.)

“Should start a fire,” Norway says.

Hong Kong wants to say that Norway should do it because he’s closer to the fireplace, but then he remembers he can do magic, and so he waves vaguely in the right direction, and a fire roars to life.

Oh, that’s even nicer. Toasty.

Norway conjures up a blanket from somewhere, and they cuddle up together.

Hong Kong sends Iceland a text with so many winky faces that it’s hard to misread. Norway chuckles when he reads it over his shoulder, then opens a book and starts to read that. Hong Kong doesn’t get a response, but it doesn’t matter. He just listens to the fire and the wind and Norway’s breathing, and that’s all he needs right now.

Three weeks and one awkward attempt at phone sex later, Hong Kong is punched in the shoulder by Iceland when they meet in England.

“That message was _so_ not necessary!” Iceland hisses, and Hong Kong grins.

“No, but, like, it was fun.”

Iceland rolls his eyes. “You have a weird definition of fun.”

“Your brother doesn’t think so.”

“Shut _up_ , Hong Kong!”

Hong Kong gets a brilliant idea and catches his friend by the wrist. “Hey, Ice, sorry. I wouldn’t wanna hear anything like that about, like, China, I totally get it.”

A raised eyebrow.

“I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Two raised eyebrows.

“Here, I’ll...” He puts his hand in the middle of Iceland’s chest, mumbles that opening spell, and Iceland’s dress shirt pops open.

“What!”

Laughing, Hong Kong runs away. Iceland runs after him with his shirt flying behind him, firing off spells as he— Hold up.

Hong Kong screeches to a halt, and Iceland slams into him, knocking them both to the floor of the conference centre. In a swift move, Iceland straddles him and uses the same spell on him.

“I didn’t know you had magic!”

Iceland smiles enigmatically, and he looks so much like Norway in that moment that Hong Kong almost wants to kiss him, but that is over quickly, which is a good thing because he doesn’t really want to kiss Iceland at all. He blinks a few times.

“We should start a club,” Iceland says, sitting down on Hong Kong’s abdomen. “Magic club, mark two.”

“Get off.”

“’S more Norway’s thing, isn’t it?”

Hong Kong pushes at his legs.

“Do I _want_ to know?” comes Romania’s voice from further down the hall. “I mean, there’s public and then there’s public, guys. Don’t let Norway see you.”

They both seem to realize what it must look like to him – them both with their shirts open, breathing hard, with Iceland on top of Hong Kong. Iceland starts to scramble away.

“Don’t let me see what? Oh.”

Iceland gives small wave at his brother and stumbles to his feet, then uses a spell to haul Hong Kong up.

Norway’s jaw drops, but Romania only grins proudly.

“Well done,” he says. And then, clapping Norway on the back, “Your brother’s got talent, my friend.”

Iceland shrugs a little and walks in the opposite direction. Romania follows suit, grasping his shoulder and talking animatedly.

“What,” Norway says. “He didn’t...”

“Hm, he’s a traitor,” Hong Kong replies, sauntering over to him. He pushes Norway’s mouth closed and trails a finger along the man’s jaw. Dark blue eyes flit to his face, and how could he have thought Iceland looked like Norway? Iceland never looks at him like that.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hello,” Norway replies. He fits his hands around Hong Kong’s jaw and leans down to brush their lips together, apparently riled up enough to not care about their location. Hong Kong smiles into the kiss. This could get interesting.

“HONG _KONG_!” China yells, _extremely_ loudly, and Hong Kong buries his face in Norway’s shoulder.

This will definitely get interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a RoIce story in here somewhere... I'm gonna write that. Like a companion piece.  
> Really though, Norway, Romania, Iceland and Hong Kong are like this interchangeable foursome to me. I ship all of them with each of the others.  
> ...Foursome. HmmmmMMMM.
> 
> Furthermore. I'm _still_ working on the 30 day challenge I said I'd do over the summer, which _is_ when I started, but I would like to have all thirty things at least somewhat finished before I start posting and I'm not really a fast writer. But anyway, that's still a thing. 
> 
> Also We is definitely still a thing too.


End file.
